| |
The metal grates hummed and Adam stared in amazement as a breeze of cool air blew toward his face. Fascinating. How did the mechanism work? Was ice somehow involved?
After several days of traveling by foot and bedding down in forest caves in the densely wooded Pennsylvania mountainsides, his journey forced him into the more populated areas where he found lodging at an establishment owned by a man named Howard Johnson. After a restless night of disorienting dreams, he awoke to the fading scent of honeysuckle, so strong he could almost believe she’d actually been there.
Removing the journal from his bag, he jotted down any details he could recall. Once again, he saw her vibrant hair, more rust than gold, more bronze than brown.
The women of the Order wore prayer kapps, simple white bonnets. He disliked the thought of covering such beauty, but also valued that no other male would see how much radiance she hid.
He recalled her almost childlike, voice. She sang to him, not because she had a gift, but because it brought her joy. The lyrics were not of any Christian hymns he recognized.
“The Red Album,” he repeated, recalling the words from his dream, the air fizzing with the dulcet echo of her voice.
He wrote down the red album, wondering what it meant and how it might help him find her. As he wrote down his memories, more came. A road sign with a number one, blue fabric, a necklace shaped like the letter Y with a circle pendant, and salt. There had been lots of salt in his dream, falling like a waterfall through a small glass opening. But none of these details helped him find her.
Slamming the book shut, he glared at the filtered slices of daylight cutting across the carpet. He’d slept as long as he could manage. Now he wanted to hunt, but the sun held him prisoner.
He packed up his personal belongings and waited. Hunger gnawed at him and he needed a distraction. He picked up a device beside the phone and examined the faded buttons. No wires. He flipped open a small compartment on the flat side and discovered batteries. Replacing the cover, he cautiously pressed buttons.
“I want you to imagine with me, if you can, that you have been stuck, trapped in a space that is so disgustingly full of junk that you can barely walk, let alone find a place to lay your head.”
A rotund man with a mustache spoke to him from the television set. Eyes wide, Adam lowered to the foot of the bed and stared at the picture on the screen. An audience listened to the man as he preached about something called hoarding. It was a new term to Adam.
The picture shifted to a room packed with modern amenities, items Adam had never seen before towering to the ceiling. Laundry flung on the floor and spilling out of tubs. Who needed so much?
Such abundance could only invite trouble. Was this how the English lived?
Piles upon piles of rubbish, food crawling with insects, boxes overflowing with gadgets, rumpled clothing, and cats. Why would anyone keep so many cats inside?
The man with the mustache navigated the clutter, no longer in front of the mass of people, but walking with a woman through the mess. The mess was gone, and they were suddenly sitting in front of the audience. The quick switch disoriented him.
“Stay tuned as we look into what might cause an ordinary person to turn into a pathological hoarder. And see if we have any advice that might help someone in your family.”
Again, the image changed. A man riding a bicycle smiled at a woman as a deep voice spoke of something called E.D. Whatever the condition, a small, blue tablet claimed to be the cure. Adam didn’t understand what he was watching, nor was he prepared for so many warnings regarding his health. Based on the last few minutes of television, the English seemed plagued by everything from depression to life threatening disease. Were all humans this fragile?
The short stories made no sense. A couple sharing coffee and then walking hand in hand. Smiling in bed... Who openly portrayed such intimacies for the world to see?
Appalled, he pressed buttons on the handheld control until the set went dark and silent. “I miss home.”
Collecting his belongings, he braced to face the lingering daylight, exited the room, and headed east. He found himself in a metropolitan area, disoriented by the tall buildings and busy roads.
“Pardon me...” When he spoke, it seemed as if everyone around him was deaf. The traffic light changed, and a small stampede of mortals charged in his direction.
“Miss, could you help me...”
When the woman kept walking, his words tapered off. Did they not speak English? He listened, overhearing the nearby voices inside of passing cars and buildings. He understood fine, so why couldn’t they understand him.
“Excuse me, sir, I’m looking for a road called One.”
A man with a full beard and black-framed glasses paused. “One?” He pushed some sort of contraption between his lips and exhaled a cloud of vapor. “There is no One. You mean Front Street?”
“No, I’m certain it’s One.”
“Sorry, brother. I’m not sure.” And off he went in a fog of skunked air.
Mortals traveled fast by vehicle and foot, always rushing to get somewhere. And when the roads grew congested, they honked horns and yelled obscenities to the people blocking their way.
While Adam possessed inhuman speed, he lacked the hurried agitation of the English. And though he was stronger, faster, and possessed greater sensory knowledge than they could ever imagine, there were more of them than him and he was feeling dizzy and overwhelmed by their presence and innumerable feelings assaulting him.
“She’s not here,” he determined, speaking out loud since no one seemed to pay him any mind.
Some gawked at his attire as they pushed past, but most were too engaged in their handheld devices to notice his presence. His head ached from the bright lights and constant beeps and pings of electronics. Sunspecs were a great idea, because even when night came the English world was bright and alive.
Following the scent of water, he fled to the outskirts of the city where the sidewalks were less congested. Roads widened for speeding cars and large rig trucks, overlapping and branching in various directions, leaving little space for him to travel by foot.
He was drawn to the undeveloped land near the bridges and highways, valuing the silence of trees and water untouched by man. Wooded areas only seemed to stretch a few hundred feet before being interrupted by cement structures and roads.
He circled an area with no destination. This nomadic wandering proved a tiresome and fruitless way to find his mate. And he needed to eat.
Up ahead, a shopping district shined like a beacon. Red brake lights snaked in and out of the complex where cars jockeyed for parking spots. Inside the store was no less welcoming. Strangely dressed English folk pushed handcarts, gathering items and proving an incredible talent for ignoring those right in front of them.
Adam found a cooler and selected a bottle of water. He also found a display of eyewear and chose a pair of sunspecs.
Giggles caught his ear and he turned to find three young women staring at him. Though their hands cupped over their mouths, he had no issue hearing their mocking laughter. While their emotions were curious, there seemed an overall fear he hadn’t expected. Then it clicked.
They didn’t trust him because he appeared different. They mocked his clothing and only recognized their differences, hardly noticing their similarities.
These young women, possibly all under twenty years, filled him with a strange sense of disjointed doubt. What if his mate found his appearance too much of a distraction? He’d never desired to fit in among the English, until now. He collected a pair of dark denim pants that seemed his size and a cotton shirt from the rack.
The hum of electric buzzed around him, drilling into his head. The congested store bombarded him with other people’s emotions—none of which seemed overly pleasant. Overhead lights, unnaturally white, hummed and flickered, too rapid for the human eye to detect, but a distraction to him, nonetheless. He had to get out of there.
As the clerk tallied his items, he asked, “Do you know of a road called One?”
She studied him, chewing a wad of mint-scented taffy. “You mean Route One?”
Perhaps. “Yes.”
“That’s Old Lincoln Highway. Turn left when you leave here and you’re on it.”
His chest zipped with a spark of excitement. He was close. “Thank you.” Collecting his bagged items, he stopped off at a restroom and changed.
Automobiles filtered in and out of the congested lot when he left the store. He watched the headlights as they turned and trailed over the exit and his pulse raced when he spotted the sign he’d been seeking.
Route One. It was exactly as he remembered it from his dream.
He stuck to the dense trees alongside the highway. Rumbling trucks and vehicles rushed by. The volume of traffic, weaving and veering in and out of segmented roads left him woozy and on high alert. He barely survived a collision for how fast the cars were speeding. If he wasn’t careful, he’d wind up run over by an English vehicle, and he must avoid any chance of exposure. Staying alert was imperative.
Perhaps it was more than motion sickness overwhelming his senses. He drifted deeper into the woods, away from the noise and movement, to feed.
A wild doe awakened his hunger the moment its hoof crunched over the underbrush of the forest. He’d fed that morning, just before dawn, yet his gut cramped with the sudden need to feed.
Slinking into a grove of trees, he subdued his breathing and waited. The doe gradually trotted, nosing through the brushwood and pausing when it sensed a predator near.
The steady beat of the animal’s heart met his ears and Adam’s fangs elongated. Deer were no easy target. They could run long distances at a pace of thirty miles an hour, a speed Adam would not be able to sustain for long with his current level of hunger.
The farm had spoiled him, and he’d forgotten the challenges that came with hunting in the wild, as well as the thrill. His pulse quickened as his fingers splayed. It came down to speed and accuracy. His pupils dilated as his stare zeroed in on the animal’s carotid artery, just six inches below its flicking ear.
He pounced, sinking his teeth deep through the fur and sinew until warm blood coated his tongue. The doe’s pulse spiked then slowed as he dragged a calming hand down it’s back, filling the creature with a sense of safety as he slaked his ravenous thirst.
Drinking his fill, he slowly retracted his fangs and loosened his hold on the doe, careful not to waste a single drop. His saliva would mend the wound within a few minutes, leaving the animal weakened but not harmed.
“Go now.”
It staggered in a daze to its feet, finding its graceful balance again, and scampered off.
Feeding had removed the edge of his hunger, but there remained a tugging sense of unfulfilled thirst. Tipping back his head, he breathed deep, seeking any sense of his mate nearby.
Nothing. In two days, his only victory had been finding the road from his dream, but for all he knew, she could still be a thousand miles away.
He followed signs for a town called Bensalem. As he crossed through residential towns, he sensed the slumbering minds of humans nearby. There was less traffic and fewer emotions bombarding him, making it easier to use his senses for his search.
Reaching a crossroad, he paused. His breath hitched as something snagged his focus, something familiar.
Houses, trees, empty stores in the distance. What was it?
A traffic light clicked, but the roads were empty. In the distance he could hear the highway where cars rushed by, but not as frequently as a few hours ago.
Something stopped him. What though?
He turned, slowly scanning his surroundings until his gaze jerked back to a metal signpost. His cheeks stretched as certain rightness filled him with a satisfying heat. He was on the right track. He was sure of it.
Approaching the street sign, he breathed deep. There, with delicate white petals perfuming the night air, he found his second sign. Honeysuckle.
Confidence renewed, he snapped off a bud and pressed it to his nose, inhaling deeply. His chest purred.
She was close. With renewed hope and a clearer mind, his senses unfurled like a flower, inviting her in. He stretched his mind, seeking her familiar presence.
His hunger returned with a satisfied growl as he caught something to the east. The delicate pull teased like a feather, stroking softly against his mind, and he loped toward the suburban set of homes in the distance. His mate was near, and he was beyond ready to collect her and return home.